


The Fulcrum of Change

by Anonymous



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Barrayaran politics, F/M, M/M, People's Defense League, Protests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 18:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Miles' afternoon plans are disrupted by the well-meaning but unwise behavior of his college age children.
Relationships: Aral Alexander Vorkosigan/Ezar Karyl Vorbarra (Original Character), Ekaterin Vorsoisson Vorkosigan/Miles Vorkosigan, Helen Natalia Vorkosigan/Dima Csurik (Original Character)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 8
Collections: Worldbuilding Exchange 2021





	The Fulcrum of Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ApolloMojave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApolloMojave/gifts).



It had the potential to be a pleasant afternoon, which of course, Count Miles Vorkosigan mused, meant that something unpleasant had to be lurking, because the universe did not often deign to provide beautiful weather, a day free of political obligations and adolescent children, and a wife in the mood for conversation and perhaps, later, an afternoon canoodle.

The expected interruption of his plans came in the form of a priority communication from Duv Galeni, the current head of ImpSec and quite possibly the last person whose name he'd hoped to see come up on his screen. He allowed himself one long-suffering sigh and opened a link. "What is it, Duv?"

"Ah. Unrest in Vorbarr Sultana, near the university. Young people protesting the Vor system and the economic disparities it perpetuates."

"They're not wrong," Miles noted wryly, looking around at his opulent surroundings. _Bought with blood, my family's and my own,_ an uncharitable part of himself noted. "May I assume matters have escalated beyond the ability of local law enforcement to handle?" _Not a bombing, please not a bombing, or some misguided child with a plasma arc rifle, or--_

"Miles, do you know where your children are?"

His heart sunk into his belly and then rose, nauseating, until he had to swallow bile. Sudden, brittle panic worked its way out of his chest, down his arms, and into his fingers, which began to tap it out nervously on the table in front of him. "Duv," he said bleakly.

"Oh, no, Miles, nothing so terrible. They're safe and unharmed, along with Prince Ezar. The mischief never escalated beyond some minor acts of vandalism."

"But?"

"But you need to come and collect them from ImpSec HQ. If you could see your way clear to talk some sense into them it would be greatly appreciated." His terror morphed slowly into consternation as he set aside images of his children dismembered all over the square. What had Helen gotten herself and Alex into this time?

"It can't wait until Gregor and Laisa are back from Komarr?"

"It cannot."

He did not have high hopes that he could talk sense into his eldest children. Scratch that. Alex was capable of seeing reason. But Helen--"Very well. Should I bring Ekaterin?"

There was a long, thoughtful pause. "Yes, I believe you should. It might be easier to manage them with a second adult."

Miles made his way laboriously up the stairs, his fiftysomething body feeling more like eighty with the arthritis that even Betan-import medicine couldn't fully erase. He could have an elevator put in. He ought to have one put in, really, it was high time they had one, but it would have to go _somewhere_ and anywhere he put it would require something else in the house to be damaged or moved. He reached the top of the stairs, aching from spine to toes, and resolved to consider the problem another day. "Ekaterin?" he asked the empty hall.

"I'll be right there, Miles," she said from the bedroom, with a businesslike sternness in her voice that told him Duv had already gotten to her, too.

"I take it you--"

She bent to drop a peck on his cheek. "Let's go bail out our wayward offspring, shall we?"

Wayward offspring. He heaved a deep breath and glared at the stairwell.

"You could have called up from downstairs, you know," Ekaterin teased.

"Bad news should always be delivered in person," he insisted. He stomped, to the best of his ability, back down the stairs, letting his cane make the noise and take the jolts for him.

Roic's successor upon his retirement, Armsman Hasapis, had already brought the larger car around. He opened the door for Ekaterin first and she slid into her seat with a gracious smile for the very young man. Miles tried not to rankle at what was beginning to feel like coddling the elderly when the door was opened for him as well. It was, after all, standard protocol given his rank.

They held hands in the back of the aircar, Miles lost in thought, Ekaterin more productively lost in the news feeds. A familiar voice burst from her handheld. "And without further delay, I'll turn the mic over to Dima!"

"Helen?" they both said, turning to each other. So. Their children were in deeper than he thought.

Ekaterin paused and rolled back the news clip, then leaned in to bring their heads together with the tiny screen between them. The ponytailed girl in dungarees with her arm around a taller-to-the-point-of-spindly boy was, without a doubt, his nineteen-year-old daughter. Worse, though, he could see behind her, holding up opposite sides of a banner reading "Abolish the Vor," Helen's twin brother Alex and, "Please, Ekaterin, tell me that's not Ezar?"

She paused the clip at the point the young man's face was clearest. "That's Ezar all right."

Miles groaned. "Have our children gone completely mad? Any one of them could have been spirited away and no one the wiser! Ekaterin, have we not taught these children anything about personal security?"

"Clearly nothing that sank in. I was thinking we could confine them to the palace until you and Gregor die of old age."

"Tempting," he conceded. Granted, at the same age, he and Gregor had been worse. By no small margin.

On arriving at ImpSec HQ, they were waved through by the gate guards and let off at a side entrance hidden by a small arrangement of small trees and shrubs, incidentally designed by Ekaterin. Even under the dismal circumstances, she couldn't resist sparing it an appraising glance or passing her fingers through a water feature near eye level.

After a moment of contemplation, she nodded at him. "Ready?"

"You?"

"I am the picture of maternal fire and brimstone," she confirmed grimly.

They followed their ImpSec escort down the hallway and into an elevator, down two floors to the holding cells and then to the right. The nice holding cells then. Pity. Miles allowed his cane to tap resoundingly against the tile floor, the better to announce his arrival well in advance. Let them sweat.

The door slid open on a small sitting room with padded benches against each wall. Miles's daughter had her arm around the spindly boy from the new feed in a way that made Miles' cave troll brain want to punch him. Alex and Ezar sat on the opposite bench a studied few centimeters apart. Alex looked like he was trying to shrink to invisibility, with his shoulders curled in and his eyes glued to his hands where they twisted in his lap. Ezar's arms were crossed defiantly across his chest. He looked Miles square in the eye, already demonstrating an Emperor's command of a room. Ekaterin stood at Miles' back, a silent presence exuding near palpable Motherly Disappointment.

"Your Highness," Miles said, allowing just a hint of irony into his tone, "Was it your intention to promote the abolition of the monarchy by presenting yourself as a ready target?"

"The protesters have grievances that are not being heard at all under the Vor system," Helen interjected defiantly.

"I was addressing Prince Ezar, Helen Natalia."

Ezar broke in calmly, "If I refuse to take the throne, then--"

"Then you dump the whole mess on your brother Dorca. And if he abdicates--well, then things become complicated, but according to some theories, that makes me Emperor and I will not stand for that." He rapped his cane against the floor for emphasis. "Understand me. It is not your goals, as such, that I disagree with so much as your methods."

He turned back to Helen and her paramour. "Young man, I don't believe we have been introduced."

"My L--" he began but was cut off when Helen kicked him in the shin. He gave her an incredulous, panicked look, swallowed, and said, "Mr. Kosigan. Sir. My name is Dima Csurik. My family owes you a debt. You have ruled us well." He looked down, then back up again. "But other Counties have not been so lucky."

Helen waited for the boy to stammer to a halt and added, "There's nothing about being born Vor that gives you the inclination or skill to rule wisely. The people of Barrayar should not have to rely on a genetic dice roll to determine the leaders who decide whether they're going to have the supplies and infrastructure to survive the next crisis." Why, again, had he sent the girl to Beta Colony for a year? And then to Sergyar to be influenced by his mother?

"Mr. Csurik," Miles said, turning back to Dima Csurik. "You cannot expect to contend with the Vor if you fall apart on seeing one. Though I'm willing to grant many a young man falls apart on seeing his young lady friend's father."

"Yes, My L--Mr. Kosigan."

"I do prefer the honorific, Mr. Csurik, though I am aware Ms. Kosigan does not. Now. As I told your mother long ago, stand up straight and speak your truth."

"The Vor system leaves most of the population of Barrayar at the mercy of inbred men who have never experienced true poverty and see us as less than fully human. We deserve a voice in planetary politics, not just in local matters, and we deserve to be valued as much as the descendants of successful thieves and grifters."

Alex, who usually remained silent and thoughtful, finally spoke. "The Vor system made sense when we were scattered across an untamed planet without the time and resources to educate more than a few. We no longer have that excuse."

"Granted. Mr. Csurik. Dima. My daughter, like many young people, believes herself to be indestructible. I can assure you she is not, and there are disadvantages to being Vor that she has not learned to account for in these relatively peaceful times. Do you understand what I mean?"

He swallowed and stared at Helen, his eyes wide as if seeing her for the first time. "I--I think so, sir."

"Helen. If you were harmed, even by an unrelated third party or another member of the Vor class, it would do far more damage to your cause than the good you could do by putting yourself at physical risk. Please consider that before you give me a heart attack."

Her spine bent, but only slightly. "Yes, Da."

"Ekaterin?"

"Yes, Miles?"

"Would you take Helen and Dima to the car, please? I would like a moment to speak with the boys."

"Of course, dear." She held out an arm to gather the two, a shepherding gesture that told Miles more about how she felt about Dima than it probably told either of the young people. _She's adopted him already_ , he thought. When they reached the end of the hallway and turned out of sight, he settled onto the bench seat they had vacated, making a bit more of a show of his creaking joints than strictly necessary. At his height, he needed all the gravitas his premature aging could give him.

"Neither your father nor I can save you from the throne, Ezar. Gregor has been laying the groundwork for a more equitable system for the last decade and more, but it takes time to build a democracy, and while Gregor could live another fifty years, there are no guarantees in life, and you could be Emperor tomorrow for all any of us know."

Alex's eyes met Ezar's for a bare moment, then darted back to his own lap.

Miles sought the ceiling for guidance and found none there. "This isn't just about the succession is it?"

Both boys remained stiffly silent and pointedly did not look at each other. "Gregor has no intention of wrangling you into marrying some conveniently connected Vor maiden. He knows as well as I do that the two of you if you're as serious as you seem to be, can produce heirs quite legitimately."

"You knew?" Ezar nearly shouted.

"I'm not blind, and neither is Gregor." This was not, precisely, true. Ekaterin had informed Miles and Gregor of the situation months ago, however. "Is that your issue?"

"No," Alex said. "The system really isn't fair to the proles." He winced at the terminology.

"You're right, though democracy has the capacity to produce gross mismanagement, too. There are no guarantees."

He addressed Ezar again, "The heir to the throne cannot be anti-Establishment, because you are the Establishment, by definition. You cannot be the force that moves the world. What you can be is the fulcrum on which the lever pivots."

"I hate it when you don't speak plainly, Da," Alex groused. Ezar flipped a hand in his general direction by way of agreement.

"The impulse to move toward democracy cannot come from you--it cannot be a gift, or the people will not see its value. They have to believe they fought for it, argued for it, and won it. What Gregor is doing and what you will do is direct that impulse into structures that will cede power in ways that ensure, as much as anything can be sure in this world, which is not very, that the Counties are well managed for everyone's benefit and that no one gets it into their heads to murder the Vor class wholesale."

Ezar closed his mouth on whatever he had been going to say, presumably remembering his lack of living grandparents. Another moment to think it through though, and he said, "It seems to me I am in more danger from other Vor."

"Make no mistake, Ezar, you have no shortage of targets on your head. Which brings me to my real question: What was going through that bowl of gelatin you call a brain? Both of you! You not only put your own lives in danger, but you also put all of the other protesters in danger. A few kids get overenthusiastic and break some windows in Vorbarr Sultana, the local police passes out fines and overnight jail stays and everyone feels like they accomplished something. But what happens when rocks get thrown anywhere near the Crown Prince?"

"Oh. No." Alex breathed.

"And that's why ImpSec dragged you all out of harm's way before that could happen. Try to remember, boys. This isn't Beta Colony. Or even Sergyar. Now, come on."

Miles hauled himself to his feet and led the way out the door to the cell. Duv joined them on the way back out to the car. "I trust matters have been satisfactorily resolved, my lord?"

"The children will all be confined to Vorkosigan House until the Emperor and Empress return." He realized that at nineteen, none of them were children and he hoped the calculated insult stung.

Ezar failed to stifle a groan. 

"And to the twins' rooms for the next week."

Silence fell abruptly.

"And young Dima?" Duv prompted.

"Dima will be joining them for some educational enrichment."

He slid into the aircar beside Ekaterin, taking a moment to survey the faces of the young people squished into the back, three of them glum, the fourth terrified. "Dima."

The kid flinched.

"You are the only person in this car I am not considering locking in the House Dungeon until their twenty-fifth birthday."

"My--Count Vorkosigan?"

"There's a dungeon?" Ezar squeaked.

"The People's Defense League, iteration, what is it now, four? Five? Lacks the strategy to match its enthusiasm. I'm turning you over to my friends Simon and Alys for tutoring in history and social maneuvering. They're the smartest people I know. Hopefully, some of it will rub off on you."

Ekaterin leaned in to whisper in his ear. "How are we going to keep the unhappy couples apart?"

Miles shrugged. "I didn't plan to. A little enforced proximity should shake out whether what they've got will withstand captivity, and perhaps they can find something to distract them from their plans to wrest power from their own hands."

"Miles!" she said, scandalized. "You are so Betan!"

"You knew that when you married me," he chided gently. "I assume Duv left it to us to inform Gregor. Would you like to do it or shall we draw straws?"


End file.
